


Warden's Cure

by Kirkwallgirl



Series: Freckles and Feathers [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Common Cold, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirkwallgirl/pseuds/Kirkwallgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Anders have caught a nasty cold, and Anders remembers an old cold remedy he hasn't used in a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warden's Cure

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was inspired by the little folk remedy recipe for a cure for common colds in World of Thedas vol. 2! Please excuse any remaining typos and silliness!
> 
> This fic can also be found on Tumblr at [Kirkwallgirl](http://kirkwallgirl.tumblr.com/post/139411348634/kirkwallgirl-lets-talk-about-that-one-time-jay)

Hawke woke up to Anders coughing next to him - Anders was trying to stifle it, but the noise was still enough to pull Hawke from his thin sleep.

"Mhnh?" Hawke managed, and rolled groggily over to squint at Anders. Something rattled in Hawke's throat, and he broke into a cough, too. _Ah._  
Anders slumped onto his pillows and pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning.

"I think we finally caught the cold that's been running in circles around Darktown," he said, and his voice droned and broke, and he broke into coughing again.

"You think?" Jay retorted. "I thought that sore throat was a good thing."

"Oh, ha ha..." Anders pushed himself up.

"You aren't planning to go down there in that shape?" Hawke asked. Anders looked pale in the faint early morning light - paler than usual, that is - and his skin broke into gooseflesh as soon as he crawled from under the blankets. He swayed when he stood up, and stopped to close his eyes for a moment. Hawke grimaced in sympathy.

"I suppose not," Anders muttered, and sat back down. Hawke had half-expected him to put up a fight, but apparently Anders felt wretched enough not to bother. Hawke reached across the bed, making a face when the hair on his arm stood up immediately. Anders turned to look at him blearily and crawled back into bed, snuggling up close and pressing his hot forehead to Hawke's cheek. He was shivering - a deep, faint tremble that resonated from the bones - and the muscles in his back worked when he tried to alleviate the pain in the lower back. Hawke hugged him close, and coughed a little. More slime rattled loose in his chest.

"Guess we didn't really think it was that bad, huh?" Hawke mumbled, and buried his nose in Anders' hair. He adored what Anders smelled like in the morning; warm and sleepy, the smell of herbs fainter on him - a quiet smell, and all Anders. He might as well enjoy it while his nose still worked.

"It's hard to tell in Darktown." Anders' voice was muffled - he had pulled their blankets closer, and only his long nose and the top of his head were visible above the covers. "The people there are tough, and don't really dare to complain, lest things go from bad to worse... I hate to leave the clinic unattended during the outbreak..." He coughed, and burrowed even deeper under the blankets. "I'm no use to them like this, though," he muttered almost incomprehensively, and Hawke agreed, though he was not sure if Anders had been talking to him at all, or if he'd been trying to convince _himself_ , or Justice.

They napped in bed until they were driven up by Apostate's insistence that she needed to be taken out, now. Hawke got dressed, bundled himself up in blankets and scarves, equipped himself with a handkerchief, and took the dog out into the garden. He stood impatiently by the rainwater barrell, rubbing his sore back and making faces at how tender his skin felt while Apostate relieved herself.

"Sorry, girl," Hawke mumbled at Apostate when she trotted back to him with a wide doggy grin on her face, and ruffled her neck fluff. "I'll ask Bodahn to take you out properly later. You'd have to drag me everywhere by the leash, and wouldn't that be fun?"  
Apostate barked, and seemed to think that it might in fact be a lot of fun in her opinion, but followed Hawke back in without whining regardless. When Hawke got to the main hall, Anders was coming down the stairs with a blanket around himself like some kind of a cocoon, and his hair hanging around his face in a tangly mess. Anders looked up when he saw Hawke, and gave him a bleary smile.

"Where are you going?" Hawke asked, and grinned at his own whiny tone. "I was hoping to get back to a warm bed."

"That's great," Anders said. "And I was not looking forward to getting you into the warm bed with your cold hands and cold feet." Hawke groaned good-naturedly, and Anders continued: "But no, I got a better idea."

"And what is that? _Getting out of the warm bed?_ "

"- and into the warm kitchen, yes," Anders agreed.

"Oh! Ooooh. Well. That does seem like a clever idea."

"I have lots of them. Are you coming? Or going back to the bed in the hopes that it might still be warm?"

"... How about both?"

Anders stopped next to him for a moment, and smiled tiredly.

"I don't think that's possible, love. Not at once."

"Not with that attitude it isn't. The _linen cupboards are in the servants' quarters_. And there are some mattressess there, too. We could drag those to the kitchen-"

Anders' laugh interrupted him.  
  
"What?" Hawke asked as they started to walk slowly towards the kitchen, shoulders bumping gently against each other with every other step. Apostate knew she wasn't allowed in the kitchens, and busied herself with a chew toy. "We could just fortify ourself there - close to the food, close to the drinks, warm, cozy..."

"Hmm. You may have a point..."  
  
"I thought so!" Hawke said triumphantly, and led the way to the laundry. Anders followed him, chuckling, and shaking his head. They dragged a couple of fluffy - if somewhat dusty - mattressess to a warm corner of the kitchen with some groaning and laughter. Anders remained in the kitchen while Hawke went back for more blankets and pillows, and was putting a small kettle onto the rekindled fire and pouring whiskey into it when Hawke came back. Hawke dumped his towering pile onto the mattresses and peeked curiously over Anders' shoulder.  
  
"What are you making?" he asked. Anders glanced at him.  
  
"Something for the cold," he answered, and smiled. "Make the beds, love. I want to curl under the blankets with this stuff."  
  
"Like a potion?" Hawke went back to the beds and started to sort through everything he'd carried in.  
  
"Not really," Anders said lightly. "Just something that the Wardens used to make when someone was sick. Some old folk remedy."

"You haven't made that before. I'd remember. It has whiskey in it."

Anders shrugged.

"I didn't remember it."

"What reminded you?"

"I don't know," Anders said, and shrugged again. "Toss me a lemon, please."

Hawke stepped over the mattresses, and took the ripest lemon from a fruit bowl. Anders caught it a touch clumsily, and reached up to pick a carlick from the braid hanging above the table. The blanket half-slipped from his shoulder, and he shrugged it back on with a shudder. He squeezed the lemon under his palm a few times before cutting it in half, squeezing the juice into the heating whiskey. He peeled and roughly chopped a few cloves of garlick and threw those in as well. Hawke finished arranging the beds, and sat down onto the edge of the table to wrestle off his boots.

Finally Anders poured his concoction into a couple of mugs, and hurried to give Hawke one of them.

"I'm cold," he groaned, coughed softly, and started to burrow into the nest Hawke had made for them. "Come on, you're warm. You're always warm."

"You didn't want me bringing my cold hands and cold feet into the bed just a few minutes ago," Jay teased, but he was already crawling under the blankets and quilts after Anders, carefully holding the mug up and trying not to spill the sharp-smelling drink.

"I can handle them, I just need your warm chest and belly," Anders said, propped up some pillows for them to lean on, and held out his arms for Hawke to crawl on. Hawke snuggled into Anders' side, and Anders sank into his feverishly burning touch with a sigh.

"We should have taken some potions from the medicine cupboard before we huddled up," Anders said after sipping at his steaming drink and making a face at the strong taste. "Elfroot and embrium at least..."

"I'm sure Bodahn or Orana will be more than happy to help when they wake up." Hawke laughed. He took a sip from his cup, and his eyes watered.

"Maker's armpits, that's something," he said, wiping his eyes. But with the drink, a warmth was spreading into his chest.

"It'll grow hair on your chest," Anders said gravely, and then chuckled. "That's what they told me, at least."

"I'm not sure if I need any more," Hawke said. Anders snorted, and broke into a cough. Hawke rubbed his back comfortingly until the coughing subsided.

"Well, if they'd make you _even warmer_ , I would have nothing against you growing some more," Anders said when he recovered enough to speak. His free hand slipped inside Hawke's shirt, and Hawke shivered and hissed at the cold of his fingers.

"I'll do my best to grow at least a couple more, then" Hawke promised, and Anders grinned into his cup and leaned his head against Hawke's neck, drinking slowly.

"This recipe could use some sweetening," Hawke said, sipping on his own drink. "Honey, maybe?"

"I think sweetness comes with a loss of new chest hair," Anders said. "That is my medical opinion. As a real healer."

"Terrible. Good thing I don't actually want to get up anyway."

"Don't you dare!"

"Honestly? Someone will have to bodily carry me out of bed before I get up voluntarily. Unless I have to piss. Or, you know, stuff. I want to just sleep this off..."

"Drink your whiskey," Anders said gently, and brushed a lock of red hair behind Hawke's ear. "And then let's try to sleep."

"It needs a better name," Hawke said, and sank sleepily deeper into the pillows. "Something dramatic. Isn't medicine supposed to sound effective? You can't just call medicine whiskey, or-"

"-- people will drink it medicinally? They already do." Anders sounded amused. He drank the rest of his drink in one go, and put the mug down beside the makeshift bed. Hawke's snort turned into a cough, and he sank even lower into the pillows. "But you're right. If it's made as a medicine, it should have name to go with it. I don't think anyone ever called it more than cure for the cold at the Keep in Amaranthine."

"Wardens' Cure," Hawke muttered into his mug, emptied it, and crawled under the blankets with a sigh. Anders cuddled up to his side, pulled the blankets tightly around them both, and tried to make himself comfortable. Hawke wrapped his arms around his and pulled him close with a wordless mumble.

"I like that," Anders said and burrowed against Hawke's chest. "Wardens' Cure. Grows hair on your chest."

"Knocks you out," Hawke mumbled. "Probably knocks other people out as well. All that garlick..."

Anders chuckled sleepily.

"Go to sleep," he said, and tilted his head to kiss Hawke sloppily on the neck. "Sweet dreams, love."

"You too. Sweet dreams."


End file.
